


the same person

by merycula (thanksillpass)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Disabled Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksillpass/pseuds/merycula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter stopped his wheelchair and looked around. He didn’t really know where he was exactly. After so many years of slinging between buildings high in the air, he found them rather confusing. The streets, that is. He was looking at the buildings from a whole new perspective. Well, not new. Old. Too old to remember, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the same person

Peter stopped his wheelchair and looked around. He didn’t really know where he was exactly. After so many years of slinging between buildings high in the air, he found them rather confusing. The streets, that is. He was looking at the buildings from a whole new perspective. Well, not new. Old. Too old to remember, really.

He watched people, looking at him as they passed him by. There had been a time when he craved the human gaze, wanted people to notice him. Now he hated it. He hated the way they looked at him. Pity. Embarrassment. Fear. Discomfort. More pity. He wanted to laugh, really, but he also wanted to cry.

He wouldn’t, though. Not anymore. He’d been wallowing in self-pity long enough. And how could he resent other people pitying him if he pitied himself? That was a very good question Aunt May had asked him after one of his tantrums. It made Peter think about something else than his own uselessness and misery.

The answer was, he couldn’t. At first he thought he could, he really did. And he had a valid reason to think so, too. He pitied himself because he wasn’t Spider-Man.  _They_  pitied him because he was Peter Parker. He thought there was a difference. But there wasn’t, was there. Spider-Man  _was_  Peter Parker.

*

Oddly enough, it took one dive into the lake and one Wade Wilson to realize it. No, he wasn’t trying to drown himself, nor did he hire Wade to kill him. That would be a complete waste of money. He just got angry, started struggling, and fell into the lake. And Wade…  _saved_  him. Ugh. The most mortifying moment of his life, and that was  _including_  the first time he’d seen Wade fully naked.

That’s right. He and Wade used to… Yeah. But not after what happened. Peter had driven  _everyone_ away. The only person strong enough to stand being around him was Aunt May, because of course she was. But Wade… Not that he hadn’t tried. But Peter knew how to  _hurt_  people away from him. And, frankly, Wade was the easiest target. Honestly, Peter should be glad Wade hadn’t killed him.

That’s why Wade, of all people, saving poor pathetic helpless Peter was less than desirable. It was humiliating in all ways imaginable. And it hurt. Presumably less than what Peter had said to Wade did, but it still hurt  _a lot_. Peter simply didn’t deserve this. The only thing he expected from Wade was a mercy kill, for old times sake. But saving his life, holding him ever so gently, softly whispering reassuring words?  _That_  was something Peter shouldn’t be allowed to have. Ever.

He screamed, he cried, he struggled, but Wade was an immovable force. He held Peter through it. He held him until his costume was soaking wet with lake water and Peter’s tears. He held him as if he was trying to make up for all this time he couldn’t hold him. Because Peter wouldn’t let him. And how could Peter explain that Wade was killing him with kindness? Could he even ask for mercy? He was so tired. Too tired to even cry.

Next thing he remembered was waking up in his own bed.  _Naked_.

*

He reached for his camera because a stray dog trying to steal a hot-dog ( _hah_ ) caught his attention. At least he was still good at taking pictures. Suddenly he felt a pull on his sleeve. He looked down and saw a tiny girl with ice cream all over her face, staring at him with wide eyes.

He cleared his throat and was about to speak when she extended her tiny hand and practically pushed her unfinished ice cream con in his face.

“Ice cweam awways makes me feew bettew when I’m sad,” she explained, running off as soon as Peter accepted the cone. He couldn’t help but smile.

Eating ice cream distracted him from waiting and looking around for a while. Which was good. He got frustrated when he got impatient. He could hardly be blamed. Not that long ago there had been no limits for him. He could be everywhere whenever he wanted. He was free.

He had power. Sure, with it came responsibility, but, honestly? He  _missed_  this responsibility. He missed feeling useful, needed, wanted. Able. He missed it a lot. He missed it like he missed Gwen, and Uncle Ben, and his parents. And he would never be able to stop missing it.

*

Peter could hear Aunt May hum some ridiculously contemporary pop song downstairs. He could smell the waffles. He could see Wade climbing through his widow and landing on the floor with a grunt. Wait, what?

“Hiya there, Petey, how are we doing on this lovely day? Is Aunt May making waffles? Did I miss her waffles! Oh man, can I stay for breakfast?” Peter blinked slowly, confused at first, and then hopeful. Hopeful was bad. But he had missed Wade, there was no point in denying.

“Depends,” he said, narrowing his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “Did you feel me up last night when you took my clothes off?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? Would you  _mind_  if I did feel you up?”

“I wouldn’t. I was  _asleep_.”

Wade laughed at that and stood behind Peter, entirely too close. Peter could feel himself tense up. He could feel the heat coming off Wade’s body, his steady breath, his eyes scorching a hole in his brain. He suddenly felt self-conscious and… unattractive, which was ridiculous, but it also wasn’t. He swallowed audibly and didn’t dare to turn around and look at Wade.

“Need help with anything?” Peter heard Wade’s voice, far too close for his comfort, and he instinctively shook his head.

“L-like what?” he forced out.

“I don’t know,” said Wade softly and hummed. “Getting off preferably.”

Peter could feel the wooden desk crack under his hands. His whole body felt as if it was set on fire. He still couldn’t bring himself to move. He had a hard time even breathing. Everything that used to be between them came back rushing and hit him like a ton of bricks and Peter wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if you would ever be.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually Wade moved towards the window. Impatience, boredom, better things to do, it could have been anything. It could have even been understanding. But Peter had to make sure.

“Wade,” he blurted, his throat dry and clenched. He still didn’t turn around, but he imagined Wade halting half-way out of the window, looking at Peter expectantly from under his mask. “I’m not” he hesitated and bit his lip, “the same person anymore,” he finished lamely. Wade chuckled.

“Of course you are. I could tell when I was feeling you up last night.”

With that, Wade was gone.

*

Peter finished his ice cream and looked around again, remembering that he was actually kind of lost. He was rather unimpressed with himself. For a second he considered asking someone for help, but dismissed the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. He didn’t want to come across as a  _tourist_. He would be just fine on his own.

It was really just unnerving. There were some things that never changed, and Wade being late was definitely one of them. Peter was meeting with him for the first time in two months, and as soon as he showed up, Wade asked to wait for him as he took care for something. As usual, vague and suspicious, and rude.

Out of spite, Peter decided to wander off on his own and let Wade look for him, and he had to admit – Wade could have a tiny problem figuring out where Peter was since Peter himself had absolutely no idea. Served him right. But Peter would feel considerably better if at least  _he_  knew his own location.

He knew Wade would find him eventually, though, he never doubted it for a second. He just felt _uncomfortable_  being so… dependent. Peter hated feeling helpless the most. He couldn’t be Spider-Man and help people the way he used to but he was still able to at least take care of himself. He was still Peter Parker.

*

Wade came back the next day. And the next one. And the day after that. That was when he broke Peter’s TV in an act of revenge for dumping him with such unusual cruelty. He also ate all his pancakes. After that, the didn’t really talk about it. Gradually, Wade  _wormed_  his way back into Peter’s life. He was disgustingly selfish and inconsiderate about it, too. He made Peter fall back in love with him (if he had ever fallen out of it) with being nothing more and nothing less than himself. He was exactly the same Wade Wilson he had been before all that. Almost as if Peter was the same person as before, too.

“You are. I already told you, I checked.”

Peter huffed a short, half-annoyed, half-amused laugh. They were lying on Aunt May’s rooftop, knowing that if she would caught them, she would never let Wade near Peter again. As understanding and fair as she might have been, she was fiercely protective of Peter and almost professionally worried about him.

“Wade,” sighed Peter. “I told you, I might have not changed, say,  _physically_ , but-”

“Peter Parker, take you mind out of the gutter,” shouted Wade, mocking an outraged tone. “I’m not talking about your junk, man.”

“You’re not?”

“No, idiot. I was talking about your heart. It’s the same. Look. The same heart that’s been beating in your chest when you were Spider-Man, is still beating there right now. I would know. I know this sound by heart. Heh, get it? Heart. Anyway. It doesn’t matter if you move around using webs or wheels. You always be Spider-Man, as long as you are Peter Parker. You’re one and the same person, baby boy. For someone so smart, you pretty stupidly forgotten about it, huh?”

Peter had to blink, because openly gaping would be inappropriate. He suspected he was gaping anyway. Wade was looking straight ahead, faking a complete focus on some unspecified cloud, nervously biting his lips and tapping his leg. Peter couldn’t wrap his head around what he’d just heard, and especially the part when it came out of Deadpool’s mouth, of all people. He swallowed around a growing lump in his throat.

“Did you have to prepare this speech beforehand?” he heard himself ask, and he could hold back a snort. That was probably the most insensitive thing he’d said to Wade since their break up. It was kind of ridiculously funny, though.

“I had to practice it for a week,” Wade admitted reluctantly and, after a moment of tensed silence, they both burst out laughing. They laughed so hard that, at one point, Peter started sliding down the roof. Wade had to save him again, and Peter didn’t even feel the pang of regret at not being able to save himself.

*

Peter had to admit to himself, his situation was far from ideal. His neck was hurting from twisting and turning, his eyes burned from trying to spot  _anything_  that would help place himself on the map. He noticed a police officer eying him suspiciously, so he must have been waiting there longer than he initially thought.

Wade was going to die, that much was decided. Suddenly he felt his Spidey-sense tingle and he looked in the officer’s way – he was moving in Peter’s direction. A second later, someone grabbed his wheelchair and Peter felt warm breath on his neck.

“There you are,” Wade chuckled into his ear. “I was wondering where you rolled off to. Haha! I know, I would be a comedian if being a mercenary wasn’t so profitable! Aw, stop it, you!”

Peter looked up to give Wade his most unimpressed look, but he changed his mind upon seeing Wade’s soft apologetic smile. He wouldn’t be able to fight off a smile of his own even if he tried. Wade did that to him. Always had. Peter was about to suggest they left, when Wade started to push his wheelchair in the direction he came from.

Wade’s steps were light and carefree, and he was humming a Beyonce’s song.

“Did you gain weight?” Wade asked abruptly and Peter shrieked indignantly. Wade laughed like he had just won a livelong supply of tacos. Peter joined, because it was pretty funny. After all, he hadn’t felt so light in years…


End file.
